


Flaming Rings of Mental Fire

by WritingYay



Series: He's a mess, but he's mine [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Politics, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Fluff, Hospitals, M/M, Male Friendship, Mental Health Is Important, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Physical Therapy, Please look after yourselves, Protection, Protective Steve Rogers, Recovery, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Security Breach, Swearing, Therapy, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, friendships, references to injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:37:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingYay/pseuds/WritingYay
Summary: “Morning.” He smiles easily and relaxes when Steve returns the grin lazily. Tony holds up the wad of documents with a flourish and Steve sits up a bit straighter in bed. “Would you like me to sign the discharge papers or can I leave you here a bit longer?”His husband laughs and throws his head back against the pillows with a sarcastic groan. “Get me out of here, please.”(Steve finally gets discharged and everything goes to shit again. Tony can't remember a time he wasn't scared.)





	Flaming Rings of Mental Fire

Tony’s greeted with bored blue eyes when he walks into the hospital room with a folder. The eyes immediately light up when the gaze drags upwards from a newspaper (“there aren’t any cartoons in this one!”) and Tony’s heart clenches with love.

“Morning.” He smiles easily and relaxes when Steve returns the grin lazily. Tony holds up the wad of documents with a flourish and Steve sits up a bit straighter in bed. “Would you like me to sign the discharge papers or can I leave you here a bit longer?”

His husband laughs and throws his head back against the pillows with a sarcastic groan. “Get me out of here, please.”

“Thought you’d say that.” Tony chuckles back and moves to the bed to place a gentle kiss at Steve’s forehead, careful to miss the bruises still littered around his temple and jaw. There were worse ones mottling his right side from his pec to his hipbone but according to Dr Beech, they were healing nicely. Thank fuck. “All done, baby. You’re officially mine again.”

The hospital sheets look stark white against the natural tan of Steve’s skin, even though he had clearly lost a lot of it to the month of rehabilitation he’d spent in hospital. Tony had made it imperatively clear that he would not have Steve home until the man was on no more than five different medications and could walk independently with his pelvis brace and two crutches. If Steve was so determined for Tony to go back to his job (y’know, the small responsibility of being President) then he was gonna be home alone for long periods of time and god forbid if the man didn’t have enough strength to keep himself alive after having a bullet smashed through his organs.

Steve hadn’t been happy that Tony was prepared to keep him in hospital after waking up from the coma. He didn’t understand the meaning of ‘hospital observation’ or “baby, I can’t help you recover by myself” or even “you’ve just had major surgery you stubborn asshole so lie the fuck back down or I’ll reduce your painkiller dose”.

“I’ll miss this bed.” Steve murmurs as Tony’s helping him pull a hoodie over his stitching and many bandages. Tony does a visible double-take; a smirk forming over his lips.

“Really?”

“As much as I’ll miss the bullet that was wedged into my hipbone for an evening,” he replies with a sarcastic jaunty shake of his hand in a pirate movement. “I did ask Dr Beech to put it in a pot for me but apparently she couldn’t understand me through the anaesthetic…”

“Don’t joke.” Tony can only whine with a frown as he pulls the material down extremely gently past Steve’s ribs to his waist. Steve’s expression immediately softens into one of guilt, his hand coming up to cup Tony’s jaw and slide his thumb over his soft lips.

“T-”

“You ready?” He cuts him off with a forced smile and stands back slightly to hold his arms out at right angles. Steve snorts and twists his body to lift his legs off the bed and place them on the floor agonisingly slowly, his hands also outstretched. Tony rests his arms under the other man’s and clasps Steve’s elbows- engaging his core to help pull his husband up to his feet. Nails from Steve’s tense fingers dig crescent moons into the fragile skin at his inner elbows but Tony bites his tongue to stop himself from complaining. Once successfully up, Steve has to catch his breath so they stand there holding onto each other for a moment, slightly swaying. Tony’s hands slide down onto Steve’s hips and he squeezes the good one with a grin.

“This is bit different from our first dance.” Steve jokes hoarsely and Tony has to roll his eyes at the heated glint shining in his husband’s eyes.

“Our wedding night would’ve been a bit different if you’d had that.” Tony taps the straps on the pelvis brace securing Steve’s right leg into position.

Steve’s tongue flicks out to wet the seam of his lower lip and oh Christ, he had a horny and slightly high-off-Vicodin muscly man on his hands. He couldn’t really complain. His husband was alive, and there had been many moments when Tony had to imagine burying the love of his life.

“I’ve lost my v-line.” Steve states in a slight warning with annoyance curtaining his features but Tony can’t subdue the amused burst of laughter that erupts from his lungs.

“It’s a fucking travesty,” he scoffs and shakes his head. Steve drops his head in a shy giggle so Tony places a finger under Steve’s chin to direct his gaze upwards. “You’re still the hottest man on earth, Steve Rogers.” Tony eloquently projects every word right into Steve’s eyes so that he understands and remembers it. 

“I love you.”

“No amount of bruising or stitching or lost muscle toning is going to mean I stop finding you insanely sexy.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a laughed sigh. “I believe you.”

“Good,” Tony rocks forwards onto his toes to place a gentle kiss to Steve’s lips. He whines breathlessly when Steve attempts to deepen it and pulls back to swat him on the chest. “Down, boy.”

The door swings open to reveal Dr Beech, looking more tired than ever, but positively beaming with a clipboard vandalised with hurried blurts under her arm. Tony slams back down to his heels in sheepish alarm and schools his expression into one of stoic professionalism. He gestures to Steve with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk to indicate his innocence; it’s a look that Dr Beech chuckles at with mirth. 

“You’re finally off then?” She jokes and moves round to Tony’s side to check that Steve’s dressings were still in place and that he hadn’t pulled any stitches when pulling that hoodie on with a slightly worried maternal expression. 

“He’s not gonna be a better doctor than you, Jenna.” Steve nods solemnly at Tony and Dr Beech makes a noise of knowing agreement. Tony silently mouths ‘Jenna?’ at Steve over her shoulder and waggles his eyebrows teasingly, which Steve suppresses a smile at.

“No one is as good as me.” She replies and arches her gaze up from Steve’s bandages pointedly, Tony masking his features with a blank smile. Steve bites back his urge to snort loudly. 

“How’s he looking doc?” Tony enquires and shifts backwards to make room for Dr Beech to fuss over Steve with a stethoscope whilst his husband obediently patiently answers her questions and coughs when prompted; even though his diaphragm visibly shudders with the fragility of his healing ribs. 

“He’ll live.” She says absentmindedly and pockets her stethoscope to write something down on a form, Steve sending a wide-eyed glace at Tony who just crosses his arms with a smile.

“That’s good to hear.” He announces and Steve glares at his mocking tone. Dr Beech sighs and puts her signature at the bottom of a piece of paper with a flourish of twirling lines before looking at her handiwork with pride.

“Here’s a list of the medication Steve needs to take, with strict instructions of when to take them and when to not.” Tony’s handed the piece of paper without Dr Beech looking over her shoulder and immediately his eyebrows shoot into his hairline as his wide eyes scan the document in horror.

“Fucking hell, Steve.” He murmurs before looking up to Steve’s confused frown and waving the sheet in the air like it had personally offended him. “Your body could be its own pharmacy with the amount of drugs pumping through your veins right now.”

Steve snorts. “You’ll have your staff memorising the schedule and all the side-effects and horrors within ten minutes of us getting home and you know it. Talking of which-” he cracks his neck with a haze of pleasure and beckons to Tony with a crooked finger. “It’s time I gave Jenna her room back.”

“Agreed,” Dr Beech knocks into Steve’s shoulder teasingly and turns back to Tony with a low voice. “He’s a lovely man, but if I heard him rattle on about politics one more time, I would’ve swapped his painkillers for tranquilisers to have some peace.”

“How highly illegal.” Tony deadpans and claps the doctor on the back as she slides out of the door. Steve watches her go with a wave before he’s clearing his throat and shrugging his shoulders at Tony’s watchful gaze.

“Take me home then, slave.”

“Slave? Oh, you’ll be lucky.” Tony chuckles and swats Steve on the ass as he hands him the crutches. The younger man had categorically refused to use a wheelchair unless it was adamant that he had to for his safety. Apparently, it made him feel a burden. Tony downright disagreed with that which had caused some pretty explosive arguments. Pepper hadn’t been happy that they’d managed to get a noise complaint in a bloody hospital. 

The crutches groan under Steve’s weight as he takes a few tentative steps forward; Tony’s spine ram-rod straight as he searches Steve’s posture for any signs of pain. He seems okay and the tension rushes out of Tony’s body in one fell swoop.

“Come on then, soldier.” He grabs their coats and holds the door open for Steve to hobble through; glancing back at the damned room one last time to finally put this sorry nightmare to bed. 

-

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

Tony watches Steve clench his grip harder on the side of the kitchen counter, his muscular back a tense line of irritation facing Tony in a silent fuck-you, and goes to bite his tongue as Steve sighs for the fiftieth time that morning.

“Tony,” Steve uses his grasp on the marble to shift his body weight round with a focused grimace to give his restless husband a pointed look. “Please, for the love of god, go to work.”

Three days later- three fucking days, Pep- after Tony had fussed around Steve like Dr Beech and her stethoscope of icy death (“Steve, stop exaggerating, it wasn’t that bad!”) Steve had finally snapped and called Pepper in a huff to get Tony out the house.

Pepper had just laughed, and left them alone for another day.

“You were shot,” Tony grumbles and crosses his arms over his suit defiantly. “Excuse me for being wary.”

“There’s being wary, and there’s waiting outside the door when I have a piss in case I ‘can’t get myself back up’, Tony.”

“Fine!” The President cries and throws his hands up. Steve raises his eyebrows expectedly. “I’ll go to the shitty meeting. But if you fall over your crutches and crack your head open, I’ll exploit my allowance of the phrase ‘I told you so’.”

“You don’t have an allowance.” Steve chuckles pointedly and gestures to the door rigidly. “Fuck off, please, and go and do something useful.”

Still complaining under his breath, Tony gathers up the last of his things and stomps up to Steve with a pout. He slides his hands round the amused man’s ribs in a feather-light touch as to not put any pressure on Steve’s scars and impressive Tate Modern display of bruises. 

“Please watch yourself.”

Steve rolls his eyes but nevertheless leans forwards to graze a kiss against his husband’s full lips. 

“I’ve got Sam on speed dial and Buck’s gonna come in at lunch to make sure I’m still alive. It’s all in hand, Mr President.”

A loud car horn reverberates through the house and Tony pulls back with a frustrated groan. He gives Steve another apology kiss goodbye and races out the door to jump in the sleek Audi; Nat sat in the back and already frantically composing messages on her phone.

“Fucking investors and their inconsiderate shitty meetings about bastard money-”

Nat doesn’t turn his way, but raises her eyebrows at Tony’s greeting of swift obscenities. 

“Is that aimed at me?”

Tony scoffs and salutes hello at Vision when he waves from the front passenger seat, aviator sunglasses perched on the top of his head and an apple core in his hand.

“Funnily enough, not this time.”

“Good,” Nat does raise her gaze at this point to give her boss a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile that hid a snarl pissed enough to even derail a furious Pepper. Now, that, was an impressive feat. “Because I was about to rip your balls off.”

Tony reaches down to cup his crotch sub-consciously with a wince. “They’re insured.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” Nat fires back and eventually puts her phone down to smile at her boss gently. They ride in silence for a couple more hours; broken occasionally by Vision commentating on the winter hue clouding the landscape stretching out from the roads. Snow threatens the air outside and ices up the windows in tiny lattices of white but there’s another kind of tension clenching the air that has Tony’s legs tapping the seat in steady rhythm. He could sense Nat watching him with a worried expression but he knows she was anxious for no good reason, after all: didn’t everyone get nervous for important meetings with people who could bleed you dry within hours? The issue was that Tony didn’t normally get apprehensive about meeting with the investors, in fact, they just pissed him off. Maybe it was the Presidency that was making everything scarier than normal?

No, Tony reasons, as the car finally pulled up to a plush office complex in New Jersey… he was just being weird.

“You ready?” Nat’s wavering voice splinters Tony’s daydream. He shivers involuntarily when Vision opens the door for him so he reverts back to his President Tony Stark, Bullshitter Extraordinaire expression with a raised eyebrow and a nod. Time to work.

Three hours later, Tony was ready to smack his investors.

It seemed that they were even more difficult to cope with after he’d won the Presidency and expected more of him- probing Nat over and over again for statistics that she and Pepper just didn’t have.

“Assholes.” Tony fumes when they exit the office in a flurry of coats and briefcases with Nat hot on his heels and a haughty frown perched on her face. “Miserable, boring assholes.” 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Nat fires back and thanks Tony when he helps her shrug on her coat. “Vision’s just gone to tell the driver to pick us from the main entrance so we don’t have to stand freezing to death in the car lot.”

“Thank fuck,” Tony moans and blows hot air into his hands. “It was so cold in that damn meeting room, I’m fairly sure the investors’ hearts actually froze up.”

The car pulls up outside the doors not a moment later and the duo rush out straight into the warmth of the vehicle. They tumble into the back laughing when the driver pulls away much more sharply than strictly necessary. 

“Vis-?” Nat stops halfway through her sentence and Tony looks up from his seatbelt in alarm. He follows Nat’s panicked gaze to his bodyguard’s face.

“We need to get you home as soon as possible.” The older man states very slowly; a deathly sheen of nausea white matted to his skin.

“Steve.” Tony’s throat lurches immediately and Vision’s lips press into a thin line.

“All of the alarms are going off at the house. It might be a security breach.”

Just like that, the bottom falls out of Tony’s world.

“No, no- fuck, Vision no-” he demands and claws at his throat in desperation to make it allow him to breathe again. Nat inhales sharply and whips out her phone to call Steve. He doesn’t answer.

Not again, not Steve. His husband had already been targeted; there was no way it was going to happen again…

“He’s on crutches,” the words somersault out of Tony’s mouth in a verbal vomit as the car speeds along the highways and Vision makes call after call to his entire team. “If someone’s got to him, he can’t defend himself he- fucking hell!” A scream tears its way through his chest as his whole body shudders against the leather, Nat placing a steady hand on his shoulder to stop the vibrations racking through his bones. 

“He’ll be fine.” Nat assures him but she can’t look him in the eyes. “The security team will make sure he’s safe. Please, babe, calm down.”

Tony doesn’t miss the look that passes between Vision and Nat when their gazes meet and he wants to throw himself out of the car. 

Unexpectedly, the eerie silence caging the house when the car finally screeches to a halt was worse than if every siren was going off and thirty riot vans were parked on his impeccably trimmed grass. Apprehension clawed up into Tony’s throat, scratching hot blood from his glands, as he catapults through the door in a tumble of flying limbs.

“Steve?!” His hoarse voice laced with panic bounces off the walls when he screams his husband’s name; going to yell again when he was met with a wall of nothing. “Bab-”

Out of nowhere, Steve came hobbling into the hallway on his crutches with a fear-stricken frown imprinted onto his face. 

“Tony? What’s happening?”

A whimper escapes the President’s chest, his feet flinging him across the marble to gather the injured man into his arms. He presses his forehead into Steve’s neck and took liberty in basking in the steady pulse thumping away under his nose. 

“Shitting hell,” Steve mutters, his hands gliding large circles over Tony’s shuddering back. “Fuck, sweetheart, take a deep breath for me.”

His voice drips down Tony’s shivering muscles like honey and soothes his aching lungs for a moment. Then, Vision’s horrified features swim into his vision and he pulls back to blink rapidly at his husband, greedily drinking in the sight of Steve awake and breathing. 

“I’m sorry,” erupts from Tony’s mouth and he scrambles around in his brain to desperately find the words to continue when Steve does a double-take in fear. “The sirens- Vision said there was a security breach and I thought-”

He trails off with a breathy exhale that has Steve gathering Tony’s forwards to his chest in order to press his lips against his hairline. 

“You thought there were more intruders, and I would be vulnerable because I’m still in recovery.” Steve finishes for him and all Tony can do is nod shakily against his collarbone. “Everything’s okay, I promise. It was nothing.”

“But the sirens?”

“…was the burglar alarm, which went off by accident. The alarms are monitored, you know that, and I was contacted to say that one of the wires had tripped in the security system and to not worry about it. There wasn’t a security breach and I was- I am- absolutely fine.” Steve tells him slowly and carefully; being cautious to keep his tone as gentle as possible as to not spook his fragile lover. Tony just slides his eyes shut in utter relief.

“Nobody was here.”

“Not a soul.” Steve confirms with a soft nod and sighs heavily into Tony’s temple. “Bucky was here earlier to check that I was okay but he left after lunch- after that, nobody was here. I’m fine, Tony. Nobody got to me. I’m safe.”

“You have no idea how scared I’ve been.” Tony admits into his husband’s warm- alive- skin and Steve stiffens and pulls back to hold him at arm’s length. Without Steve’s body pressed against his, Tony realises how much his body was shaking and he becomes painfully aware of how wild and terrified his eyes must look.

Steve casts a critical eye over him. “You wanna try that again?”

Tony swallows and twists his fingers in his shirt. “I was so fucking scared.”

Steve’s resolve breaks and within half a second, he’s got Tony wrapped up in his arms like a child. He whispers soothing nonsense into Tony’s hair as the broken man just hangs on for dear life and cries into Steve’s shoulder.

He wasn’t okay. How could he ever be okay again? He nearly lost Steve once- he couldn’t go through that again.

-

Steve’s shackled to the wall.

Tony blinks in quick succession at the sight and immediately his heart lurches to his throat. He screams for Steve but his feet are weighted to the ground by blocks of concrete with The Avengers’ party colours slashed into the side.

Heartbreakingly sluggishly, Steve lifts his shaking head to look directly into Tony’s eyes. They look broken; destroyed with pain and tears. His eyes- his husband’s beautiful eyes- weren’t blue anymore but instead a pathetic grey that were metal dull.

“Sweetheart? T- Tony?!”

Mirage-Steve dissolves into billions of tiny pieces that explode into his skin- drawing blood from Tony’s empty well of pain.

He awakes with a start, shuddering and hyperventilating and with glassy sheens of cold sweat seeping into his skin. Steve’s on his haunches in front of him with wide panicked eyes and his hands clamped around Tony’s wrists. It takes Tony a minute to realise that he was attacking out to some imaginary baddie in his nightmare because there’s a harsh scratch down the side of his husband’s neck that wasn’t there when they eventually went to bed a few hours ago. This causes Tony to whimper loudly and cower away into himself.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. Don’t do that, you’re okay.” Steve soothes but his voice keeps cracking with every emphasis and Tony’s heart breaks because he’s putting them through more shit… he was the cause of the trauma, again. Steve was the one who was shot, yet Tony was falling apart like the weak piece of shit Howard so lovingly reminded him he was every day since he could talk.

“You’re alive.” Is all Tony can grit out; the vice crushing his chest ramming into his arteries like bullets.

Steve nods jaggedly and gently puts Tony’s shaking hands back down to his sides with his fingers still circled loosely around his wrists. “Of course I’m okay, gorgeous. Fuck, Tony sweetheart, I’m alive and so are you and everyone’s fine.” A whine escapes Steve’s throat as he shifts down onto his good leg, his fingers twitching to pull Tony to him. In the days of successive nightmares- nightmares that haunted Tony’s sleep for weeks, nightmares that he solely blamed on his bastard father’s ghost- Steve could just let Tony tumble into his lap and hold him for as long as it took for the monsters to go away.

The hip brace caging Steve’s pelvis as well as the stitching branded into his torso glares at them mockingly. 

Tony swallows so heavily, he was fairly sure his organs were trying to crawl up his throat. “It was so real- I… I watched you die, again. Again, Steve, it’s happening again.”

“No,” Steve berates and slides his warm hands into Tony’s hair. “This isn’t like last time. I won’t let it. You’re exhausted from looking after me, you’re exhausted because you’re the fucking President, you’re exhausted because that false security breach has plagued your mind ever since it happened and you’re exhausted because you love me.”

Tony lets his eyes slip closed and holds his breath, waiting for the nightmare to slam back into his sub-conscious. It doesn’t, and all he can feel are Steve’s trembling fingers warm against his scalp.

“You okay?”

There’s a pause before Tony’s shaking his head slowly and forcing his eyes open to stare blankly at the wall. Steve exhales sharply out of his nose and continues the gentle pressure in his husband’s hair.

“I’m sorry.” Tony croaks after a while and reaches out with his ring finger to gently run parallel with the angry mark down Steve’s neck. Steve catches the finger with his other hand and presses his lips to the pad of it fiercely. 

“Just like you said to me in hospital: you have nothing to apologise for,” he states quietly and shifts his hand down to cup over Tony’s ear. “None of this is your fault.” 

“But-”

“Uh, no. Listen to me: this is not your fault.” 

Tony wriggles in his hold to release the nervous energy thrumming through his veins that leaves an empty exhaustion in its wake.

“It’s not yours either.”

Steve regards him for a moment; his big, blue eyes shining with unshed sympathy. “I know.”

A restless silence falls on them both but Tony’s never felt so tired in his entire life.

“Sorry that I scratched you,” he whispers in the dark and Steve curls a hand round his neck to rub his thumb over his jugular gently. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Steve replies, his voice getting lost in the shadows until it sounds faraway and shaky. “I’ll always protect you.”

It should be the other way round; Tony screams to himself, I should be protecting you.

The following morning sees Tony dejectedly leave for a meeting he was unable to get out of with Nat firstly running to the door and embracing Steve tightly. She tells him how glad she is that a nutcase with a machete didn’t manage to break in and crack open his skull like an eggshell which unsurprisingly doesn’t make Steve feel much better.

Around eleven, a raucous knock at the door interrupts him from his sleepy stupor as he’s halfway through an episode of Dynasty. He groans loudly and pushes himself up from the sofa to politely tell the unwanted visitors to go the fuck away.

However, it’s his two best friends, so he swallows this welcome and stands by to let them in.

“Okay, ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’.” Bucky crows and slides onto the kitchen counter, his sock-clad feet bouncing off the cabinets in a steady rhythm. “Uh, Tyler Hoechlin, Taron Egerton and… Liz Gillies.”

Sam groans and throws his hands in the air.

“You do know you’ve managed to pick three of the most beautiful people in twenty-first century Hollywood?” Steve points out and taps the lid of his pen on the table. Bucky shrugs and points at Sam aggressively. 

“Go!”

“Oh god, um… I don’t know! I’d marry Liz and I’d probably fuck Tyler because that man is smokin’… but then Taron can sing- oh this is shit and ridiculous. Buck, let me do you.”

Bucky bites down the temptation to throw a euphemism at Sam and instead tilts his head to the side at Steve staring emptily out the window.

“Okay, right- let’s have: Angelina Jolie, Rihanna- she’s fucking hot, guys- and… oh I know,” Sam’s eyes harden into something animalistic as he bites his lip. “Clint.”

Steve looks up in alarm at Bucky’s horrified gasp.

“Fuck. You.” He interjects every word with giving Sam a hard long look at his middle finger as his best friend cackles to death in the chair. “Go fuck yourself, you asshole.”

“Clint-?” Steve starts and Bucky growls loudly and jumps from the counter to launch himself at Sam who just screams through laughter and attempts to fend off Bucky’s savage slaps.

“Now look what you’ve done!”

“Clint, as in my Clint, Clint?” Steve barges on, still utterly confused.

“He’s Buck’s Clint now, Stevie boy! Oh, fuck- No, Bucky, OW!”

Steve sighs and contemplates whether he should save his best friend from the angry wrath of his used-to-train-with-the-military boydyguard. Decision made, he shrugs fondly and watches as Bucky puts Sam into a headlock.

When he’s commanded Bucky off Sam not five seconds later because the man was going blue, he gets a soft gaze off Bucky that makes him cross his arms (carefully over his broken ribs) and lean back in his chair.

“Oh god, what?”

Bucky purses his lips and drops down into a chair next to Sam, where the smaller man is rubbing the red marks stamped across his neck and muttering complaints to himself. 

“You’re away with the fairies, bro. You had a fight with the big man or somethin’?”

Steve twists his expression into one attempting to represent confusion and laughs forcefully at Bucky.

“No pal, me and Tony are golden, honestly. I think he’s just shaken up from that false alarm with the security after, you know, what happened at the tower.”

Bucky whistles in sympathy and gently prods Steve’s foot with his big toe.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, wouldn’t you?”

At this, Steve blanches and tries to swallow the huge ball of shock stuck at the base of his throat. Sam turns to blink at him in silent agreement and suddenly he doesn’t know how to respond.

He settles for lying through his teeth.

“Yeah Buck, course.”

Sam pipes up with a cough and a frown. “Why are you lying now then?”

His two closest friends stare in weird synchronisation at him as he opens his mouth to retaliate in defence. Bucky tilts his head at Steve as his frown deepens with every passing second of Steve’s hesitation until he realises that there’s no use keeping anything from either of them.

“Fine,” Steve sighs and drops his focus to study the very intriguing sight of his left fingernails. “The fake threat has shaken Tony as much as the shooting did because now he’s in constant fear that I’m gonna get hurt again. People hate him, boys, like really loathe him and he doesn’t trust anyone not to try and kill me.”

They both stare at him in shock until Sam’s nipping his bottom lip in worry.

“The nightmares are back I’m guessing.”

“He says he’s watching me die all over again,” Steve nods grimly and Bucky runs a hand over his face. “It takes me hours to convince him that I’m alright.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Steve replies miserably and places his hands in his lap to hide the shivers running up and down his appendages. 

“I don’t know what to say.” Sam admits softly and runs a hand through his hair. Steve gives him a soft smile and nods.

“Me neither.”

Bucky drops his gaze for a heartbeat before he’s out of his chair and disappearing into the nearby office. The remaining men watch him go in tight confusion.

“Bucky?”

When he returns, Bucky’s got a post-it note in one hand and a pen clamped between his teeth. Steve sends Sam a concerned look as Bucky starts to scribble something down.

“What are you doing, man?”

“I won’t be offended if you don’t want this, or even chuck me out of the house,” Bucky starts and goosebumps begin to ravage Steve’s forearms. “But it might help.”

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on here or-…” Steve wonders aloud to Bucky’s back before he’s turning round again with a sigh and handing Steve the paper.

On it is the name ‘Matilda’ scrawled haphazardly in marker pen and a phone number underneath it.

“I talk to her when things get... complicated.” Bucky explains when Steve looks up in blank misperception. 

“She’s a shrink?” Steve spits.

“She’s a therapist,” Bucky corrects firmly. “And a very good one at that.”

“There’s a difference?”

“She’s not gonna rifle through your thoughts and diagnose you mentally unstable on the spot, Steve.” Bucky continues with an eye roll. “Matilda listens to what you’re saying and she genuinely wants to help. It worked for me, for fucks sake. Me, Steve, the guy who doesn’t have feelings.”

Steve looks down at the scrawl as images of Tony, screaming and trembling fill his head.

“Tony will never agree to this.” He grumbles but pockets the note anyway which makes Bucky smile.

“Probably not, but it’s an option.” 

“I didn’t even know you went to therapy.” Steve mutters and Bucky snorts loudly.

“Where did you think I was going all those times I mysteriously disappeared for a few hours?”

“Fucking Clint?” Sam murmurs under his breath and Steve chokes on his own saliva to laugh uncontrollably. Bucky’s features twist into a murderous rage as he points his index finger at Sam dangerously. 

“Right, you fucking satanic asshole-”

The post-it note burns a metaphorical hole in Steve’s pocket. Steve pretends not to notice. 

-

“She looks about twelve!” Tony hisses in the kitchen and Steve rubs a hand across his eyes tiredly. 

Convincing Tony to at least give Matilda a chance had been the hardest thing Steve had had to do in what felt like years. At first he was adamant that he didn’t need therapy, but then one particularly awful nightmare had nearly stopped his breathing as he thrashed about in the sheets and Steve was done. He was over watching his husband fight demons in his sleep every night and he was over watching a zombie version of Tony try and run the country every day.

In the end, he had asked Bruce to have a word with Tony. It didn’t take long for one of Tony’s oldest friends and his rudimentary psychiatrist to show him what an important opportunity he was passing up. That and a bit of blackmail, and Tony was ready to talk.

“She’s on the young side, yeah, but Bucky recommended her so she must be good at her job.” Steve placates as they watch Bruce converse with the young woman in the other room. The physicist had taken a particular professional shine to Matilda and it was proving difficult to separate them. 

“Oh god,” Tony groans and grabs some coffee from the side. “Let’s get this over with.”

The couple shuffle to the adjacent room and make themselves comfortable opposite Matilda who gives them a beaming smile. Tony’s waiver, the NDA he had asked the therapist to sign, lay neatly on the floor.

“Can I get you anything, Matilda?”

Bruce hovers around the therapist’s shoulder tentatively and Tony has to physically clench his muscles to stop himself from actually kicking his friend out.

“I’m fine thank you, Dr Banner.” She nods with a polite smile and Tony gestures to the door with a sigh.

“She said she’s good. Go on then.” 

Bruce flicks his eyes between the young woman and Tony, completely ignoring the pitying look in Steve’s eyes, and bows out of the room with a pained grin. The door slams behind him and the three bodies hear his muffled curse after the loud noise.

Steve chuckles but Tony just shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “Sorry about him.”

Matilda smooths her hair back behind her right ear with a soft smirk that borders on concern. Her white converses cross at her ankles under her chair; her legs were so long, she had to bend them back under her weight and it looked entirely awkward. Tony opens his mouth to offer her another seat when she clears her throat and looks Steve dead in the eyes.

“May I ask how your rehabilitation is going, Mr Rogers?”

“Uh-” Steve seems taken aback by the question and immediately Tony’s chest goes into overprotective mode. “I’m good, thank you. It’s hard to get out of bed some days, physically and mentally, but just being with Tony again is helping loads.”

Tony’s throat closes up at his husband’s honesty and he sends Steve a glance of gratitude.

Matilda nods, her expression carefully guarded. She offers Steve a small smile and continues with: “I’m glad to hear it. I have to check in with trauma patients before any appointment just to check everyone’s in the right mind-set to do this.”

The aggravated dragon sitting on Tony’s chest stops blowing flames and dissipates into a resigned ache of fatigue. He appreciates Matilda’s thought-process and starts to mentally thank Bucky for recommending the therapist- even if he did have cartons of milk older than her. 

“And how are you, Pr- Tony?” 

Tony blatantly ignores her correction, even as Steve gives him a side-eye and smiles tightly as her face flushes red.

“I’m good thanks, lovely.”

Steve frowns deeply at him. “Tony.”

Matilda’s eyes flit between them as Tony sighs and leans his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“Fine. I’m not doing too hot after we had a faux security breach here recently. It brought back the fear from the shooting and I’m constantly scared.” He explains and folds his arms petulantly. Steve exhales sharply and looks away.

“What exactly are you scared of?” Matilda’s eyes seem like pools of sympathy and Tony wants to throw up.

“Generally?”

“No,” Matilda’s lips quirk up into a small smile. “What scared you about the security breach?”

Tony blinks. 

“I was- I am scared that Steve’s gonna get hurt again because of me and my job,” he says very slowly, aware that Matilda’s nodding along with him and Steve’s starting to breathe quite deeply. “I can’t watch him die again. It broke me.”

There’s a hand sliding into his and as he looks up in surprise, Steve’s smiling with glassy eyes that make his heart clench. Steve glides his thumb in soft circles over his wrist bones.

“The last few days have been really tough,” Steve continues, to give Tony a minute to collect himself and deal with the pulsing ball of heat in his lungs. “Tony’s been having vivid nightmares since the accident.”

Tony physically recoils into himself and Matilda turns her attention to him.

“Have you had these nightmares before?”

Tony steels himself before sending her a crooked smile.

“You have an abusive father; you get trauma-induced nightmares.” 

Matilda hides her shock well, and instead settles for nodding slowly and flicking her eyes towards Steve.

“And you?”

“I’m okay,” Steve holds his hands up and nudges the other man. “I just want him to be okay too.”

“Right,” Matilda sighs and shuffles forwards so she’s sat on the edge of her chair. “Tony, I don’t blame you for being tense about the security breach. After what you’ve both been through, it’s to be expected. We need to make sure that going forward, you’ve both got ways to cope with the stress that’s undoubtedly been forced on you and then we’ll try and do something to help those nightmares. Is that okay for the both of you?”

Tony and Steve share a look as an agreement passes between them.

“Sounds good.” Steve replies after a few seconds and Matilda relaxes.

“Great. So, how about you start from the beginning of this for me so I’ve got the full picture?”

Tony smiles fondly and leans back against his chair as Matilda gets comfortable again, Steve warm and alive at his side. “We met over twelve years ago, and Steve was a cocky little shit-”

“Um, Tony?”

A groan. “Oh, fine. We first met and I was a cocky little shit…”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about how best to do this instalment ever since I posted the last one. This is therefore the result of stress and a tiny bit of exhaustion (apparently I do too much, who knew?) so I do apologise that it's a bit more rushed than the other two...
> 
> Regardless, I REALLY hope you enjoy! Please let me know if you did, the comments make my day! :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: (As much as I need it) I haven't been to therapy, nor have I ever talked to a counsellor. I didn't want to dwell too much on the therapy segment as I wasn't entirely sure how best to construct it after not personally experiencing it myself. If you feel that therapy would benefit you, please please please seek help if you can. There is no shame it in, nor does it mean you're a failure. You are strong and I love you lots. 
> 
> You may be able to guess that the next part of this series will 90% probably be a prequel to delve deep into when these two idiots first met, so that should be fun. Hugs!


End file.
